


And They Won't Go

by ImogenPortchester



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Sam, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-17
Updated: 2016-05-17
Packaged: 2018-06-08 23:50:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6880546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImogenPortchester/pseuds/ImogenPortchester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam's birthday was a couple weeks ago. Dean baked him a cake and stuck 33 candles in it. It should’ve been comical, as Dean surely intended it to be. But Sam didn’t laugh. He blew them out in one breath, ate a piece, and then went to sleep. The next day he caught a glimpse of the leftover cake in the trash.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And They Won't Go

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from the song "Spirits" by The Strumbellas.

It’s been a long time since Sam has actually felt the sun warm his skin. He doesn’t get much sleep at night anymore, which has led to him being awake for most of the night and asleep during the day.

He feels like a vampire. Good thing he’s not still addicted to demon blood.

He looks up at the stars. The sky is so clear tonight. When Sam climbed out of bed at 7pm Dean told him that he should go outside, that it’s a warm night. Dean wasn’t wrong. It’s still too early in the season for the mosquitoes to be a real problem, which is good, because they’ve yet to pick up any bug spray. He doesn’t spend much time outside lately; he doesn’t spend much time anywhere except in bed or on the couch.

Dean told him about a week ago that he should go and talk to someone. Sam refused to speak to Dean for two whole days. But now he figures that Dean was right, knows it, in fact. He thought that maybe this…funk would go away on its own, and maybe it will, but two straight months of depression is a lot.

Sam's birthday was a couple weeks ago. Dean baked him a cake and stuck 33 candles in it. It should’ve been comical, as Dean surely intended it to be. But Sam didn’t laugh. He blew them out in one breath, ate a piece, and then went to sleep. The next day he caught a glimpse of the leftover cake in the trash.

Dean has been understanding, but Sam knows it’s hard for him too. They only really have each other and Sam hasn’t exactly been there for him lately. Maybe he deserved to have his cake thrown in the trash or to have his postcard collection knocked onto the floor and stepped on.

But Dean was also the one who picked up the postcards and organized them in a new wooden box that he built specially for them. He didn’t present the gift to Sam, he just left it out on the kitchen table and pretended he didn’t see the shameful tears that Sam let fall silently into his roast beef.

Dean was even the one who hid all the pill bottles (and Sam only knows because he went looking for them).

Sam has been an ungrateful asshole, he knows.

He wants to get better, but he wants to do it on his own. The problem is that he doesn’t know how to begin. He thinks maybe he already has begun, or that maybe he’s just sinking deeper. Some days it feels like he’s happier than he was the day before. Occasionally he’ll wake up before sunset and feel like he should get up and go for a run or take a ride into town. But other days he tries to climb into Dean’s mind and figure out where the man hid all those pills.

The screen door creaks open and Dean pads out, barefoot, in his sleep pants and a v-neck shirt of Sam’s, carrying two glasses of lemonade. He hands one to Sam, then sits down on the step next to him.

He turns his head and studies Dean for a few long moments. His brother is looking up at the sky as he raises the glass to his lips. He watches that smooth throat work as he swallows. Dean licks his lips and places a hand on Sam’s thigh without moving his eyes away from the stars.

Wordlessly Sam leans into his brother and rests his head on Dean’s shoulder. Dean squeezes his thigh.

“Maybe tonight you could try taking a sleeping pill then tomorrow we can get up and go for breakfast? Maybe to that antique store you like?”

Sam breathes in deeply through his nose and holds it for a moment. If Dean can try then so can he.

“Okay.”

“Yeah?” Sam can hear the optimism in Dean’s voice without having to look at his face.

He nods against Dean’s shoulder and looks up at the sky again. They stay that way for a while: neither one speaking; both enjoying the quiet, still night and sky full of stars.

Dean turns his head and kisses Sam’s messy hair. “I miss you,” he whispers.

He and Dean have been through everything together. They’ve seen and done a lot of awful things. Maybe this is how Sam is paying for some of those things. They’ve spent a lot of nights on the run and now that they’ve settled down he and Dean have time to be what they’ve always wanted to be: in love.

And Sam is the one dropping the ball.

“I’m sorry.”

Dean pulls away and Sam sits upright again.

“Sam,” Dean says his name firmly.

Sam looks into his brother’s eyes, difficult to see in the dark, with only the stars to illuminate them.

“I don’t want you to be sorry. That’s not why I’m saying this. I told you that I miss you because I think you need to hear it. I think you need to know that I still care about you, and that I’m not ever going to stop caring about you. So whatever it is you’re going through I’m here for you, even if you don’t want to talk about it. You don’t have to say a word to me if you want, that’s fine. But I just… I don’t want you to suffer, okay? You don’t deserve this.” Dean runs a hand through his hair and sighs, frustrated. “Okay. There. That’s what I needed to say.”

He stares at Dean for a good while, then rests his head on the man’s shoulder again, content in a way he hasn’t been in months. He doesn’t know if Dean is right, that he doesn’t deserve to feel this way, but he’s tired of sleeping though the days and wearing pajamas at the dinner table. Tired of showering only when he starts to be able to smell himself and wonder why Dean hasn’t said anything, only to change into another pair of pajamas afterword. He’s tired of rejecting Dean sexually. He misses Dean’s hands, his mouth, his legs wrapped around him. He’s tired of being tired.

He’ll force himself to sleep tonight then tomorrow they’ll spend the day together and Sam will search for antique postcards and try his best to get better.

He takes a sip of the cold lemonade. He’ll try the day after that too, and the next day, and the next, until he doesn’t have to try anymore.


End file.
